


You caught me under false pretenses

by heavenisalibrary



Series: Tumblr Prompt Fills [23]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:04:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3813283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenisalibrary/pseuds/heavenisalibrary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You don’t,” he says, touching the cut on his lip.</p>
<p>He sounds so sure. She wishes he’d question it, sometimes. She wishes she could give him a reason to. But then, she supposes she already has; she killed him, after all. He just hasn’t gotten there yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You caught me under false pretenses

**Author's Note:**

> Just uploading old tumblr prompts.

“You almost got us  _killed_ ,” he says, slamming the TARDIS door behind him.

“ _You_  almost got us killed,” River says, “ _you_  need to  _trust me_  and then we won’t  _have_  these problems!”

“Trust  _you_?” the Doctor says, wheeling around, tweed flaring out behind him, and stalking back toward River. He backs her into the door, though she’s not sure he even realizes it. His face is so close to hers, his breath sweet against her lips as he spits out, “ _seriously_?”

She wants to claw his eyes out of his face, she wants to tell him how often he asks things of her that are too much, she wants to tell him how much of her life was based on blind trust in him, she wants to tell him that she  _hates_  him; but all of those things have the potential to derail the future and rewrite all of the good moments she lives for, and so she fists her hands in his hair and pulls him into her instead.

She doesn’t want to kiss him, although part of her wants to cry at the way he instantly falls against her and gasps against her mouth like he’s been wanting it all night, so as soon as he relaxes and opens his mouth to her she bites his bottom lip, gently at first, and he sighs, and then hard enough that he jumps back from her, touching a finger to the spot of blood on his lips.

“River —”

“Shut up,” she says, hands flying for the buttons on his shirt. She expects to have to fight him — she expects him to flail and protest, she expects him to ask her questions or push her out the doors or send her back to Stormcage. Instead, he lets her unbutton him and throw the bowtie across the room. He kisses her back when she leans up into him; she tastes his blood on her tongue  and sucks his lower lip into her mouth, feeling him shudder beneath her hands as she shoves his shirt off.

She goes for the buttons of his trousers next, pulling his hips firmly against hers once she has them shoved down around his ankles. He stumbles into her as he steps out of them, slamming her back against the door. He pulls back, as if he’s going to apologize, so she bites him again, this time on the side of his neck. His hands are buried in her hair as she continues to bite at his skin, red marks blooming along his throat as she goes, and together they manage to shove his underwear out of the way, and she feels him hot and hard against her dress, and then against her skin as he rucks her dress up.

She clings to him, and he pushes her back against the door, hard enough to make her cry out, and she slings a leg over his hip. He slides her knickers out of the way and after a bit of fumbling on his part, she wraps her hand around his cock and lines him up with her, using her foot against his bum to push him forward until he fills her. She’s wet, but not enough, but then she doesn’t want this to be anything soft and tender, she wants it to be hard and fast and something he’ll think about later and hurt for, the sort of memory that makes him both hard and a little bit sick; and so she wraps her other leg around him, spurring him on with the loudest, filthiest sounds she can muster until he’s hitting her just right, and it’s a little raw and a little painful and she knows her back is goign to be bruised from slamming into the door as he pushes into her, but it’s what she  _needs_.

He doesn’t love her, right now. He doesn’t even trust her. But at least in this he needs her — at least in this he’s someone she can recognize, not the horrible stranger who sometimes wears his face and uses his words to pull off her skin.

“ _More_ ,” she demands, and he obliges, reaching a hand down between them to rub his fingers over her clit, and they lurch sideways, but he doesn’t stop moving, and it’s all wrong but it’s so  _good_ in all the wrong ways, just what she needs after a night of playing games with him; simple, base, physical proof that he wants her, that she means something to him, even if it’s not what he means to her.

She realizes this must be what it was like for him, when she was young and angry and fucked him just because she could. She also realizes that at both ends it’s her using him, and that feels so unfair that she bites down hard on his shoulder in retribution.

He begins to lose rhythm, the sort of tiny, desperate grunts coming from him that she usually finds endearing and now just signal the inevitable end, and she wraps her legs more tightly around him, crying out when he finally finds the right press of his thumb, his thrusts deeper and slower and when he tugs her by her hair to pull her lips up to his and kisses her, she comes hard, crying out. He follows shortly after, kissing her softly as they slide to the floor.

River wants to think that she did this because she hates him; she wants to think that this was a punishment for him, and a balm to her; she wants to think that she’s a super hero and she doesn’t  _need_  him.

The reality is that she pushed him to feel his arms around her, after. 

“I hate you,” she says, trying not to think about how he’s naked and she’s fully clothed.

“You don’t,” he says, touching the cut on his lip.

He sounds so sure. She wishes he’d question it, sometimes. She wishes she could give him a reason to. But then, she supposes she already has; she killed him, after all. He just hasn’t gotten there yet.


End file.
